


Serendipity

by BelieveMePlease



Series: here and now and who we are [1]
Category: Rugby Union RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 15:37:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13930092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelieveMePlease/pseuds/BelieveMePlease
Summary: And with that the world was different from yesterday, from two weeks ago, just from one sign of George's joy. None of it was coincidence, the warmth, the sun, the hopefulness Owen felt;  it all came down, somehow, to the way George's happiness could change the orbit of Owen's whole world.





	Serendipity

It felt strangely hot, the air in the room scorched with the winter sun beating through the crack at the bottom of the blind. Waking up in an encompassing and bright warmth felt backwards in such a chilling season - everything had felt a little backwards the fortnight passed. At least the cold, the snow, the disruption to life had felt appropriately accompanying to such crushing emotion and disdain. But this, eyes fluttering blearily open and being met with such light as scolding sun rays, it was like a beam of hopefulness being handed back after a decade of soaring victory had been so brutally stripped away. Now, miles away from the heartache in Edinburgh and in the seemingly safe embrace of Paris, the day could finally begin without the vice grip of defeat callous around the heart.

Tiny puffs of air could be felt beating warm and rhythmically against the already near sweat slick skin of Owen's neck as he tried to get his tired eyes to focus into consciousness. And despite all the optimism the sun in France may bring, it was only these light sprinklings of air on his skin that could bring a smile to his face so early on such an important day. Sure, this would be him proving himself, finally showing that he could lead the team, and the nation, to a win after such a gutting loss, but it was the bigger picture that really mattered. No matter how much they separated their personal life from their game play, every moment otherwise were theirs and theirs alone.

Owen couldn't help but stare. He knows it would be weird if it were anyone else, but this was George, his George, and Owen would gaze at him all day if he could. The slight furrow of his eyebrows every time the young fly half slept was intriguing, always a wonder what images his mind could be concocting in his dream state. Reaching out his hand, Owen lightly began to trace over the gentle creases in George's forehead, index finger mapping the lines, memorising them as if it were essential he could recall each detail by heart. Thumb skirting lightly over the left temple, the pulse there always relieving reminder that George was here, living and breathing and not going anywhere. Fingers combing into soft, messy hair, palm coming to cup at the back of George's head and rub calming circles there. Lips brushing on cheek, on forehead, on lips, until finally a small sleeping smile graced his face.

And with that the world was different from yesterday, from two weeks ago, just from one sign of George's joy. None of it was coincidence, the warmth, the sun, the hopefulness Owen felt;  it all came down, somehow, to the way George's happiness could change the orbit of Owen's whole world.

As George began to stir to consciousness, Owen couldn't help but feel every ounce of stress within him melt away just at the first glimpse of tired blue eyes looking elatedly into his own. Moving slowly from the back of George's head, Owen slipped his hand slowly southwards, pausing momentarily at the neck to briefly squeeze the tension away, and settled on his lower back to haul him closer. Chest to chest their breaths seemed to synchronise, the push-pull of an ore against a wave.

"'Morning, captain," George mumbled sleepily, face profusely flushed, from the heat or from bashfulness Owen couldn't tell. Owen's chest grumbled with laughter as George tucked his head into the clef of Owen's shoulder and allowed the weight of himself to be supported there.

"'Morning, sunshine," Owen slipped his other arm underneath the dead weight of George's still relaxed and sleep brink form to encompass him in a soft morning cuddle. The constant presence of George's body against his own almost allowed Owen to forget the worries and responsibilities of the day. All the responsibilities he could bring himself to care about in that moment were right there, pressed to his neck, his chest, hands on the humid skin of his back.

Neither could help thinking that this was how it was supposed be, even if it technically wasn't. Eddie would have a field day if he found out they weren't in the rooms they were assigned, no matter his own personal investment in the two fly halves and their relationship, he'd never give up an opportunity to let them feel his wrath.

George sighed aloud bringing Owen's attention back from his own head and he traced his fingers up each notch in George's lower spine, a silent reminder that, 'I'm still here, you can talk to me'.

Head lifting slowly, cheek brushing against cheek their lips finally came together to share in the most intimate of moments. It was languid and slow, lazy in a way they knew couldn't last the day through, but they could saviour their energy, build each other's and their own with just the exhilaration of the other's presence. Owen dipped away after a moment, electing a quiet wine from George's throat, spurring the older to duck down and pepper his mouth against it.

"Are you nervous?" George asked quietly, he brought his fingers into Owen's hair as the centre continued his endeavour against the sensitive pulse and trigger points scattered around his neck, "I know you don't really get nervous, but, just, y'know?"

"Hmm, no not really, bit more pressure with the whole..." Owen rolled George onto his back to carry on as far down as his collarbones, "thing. And after Scotland too, but we can't let that get to us now, can we, Fordy?"

George laughed lightly, "Whatever you say, captain," he saluted sarcastically only to have his arm grabbed and held down next to his head, the other following shortly after. His sternum was pecked quickly by Owen's lips before he was released and his forehead given the same fleeting treatment.

"You're cheeky," Owen teased. He sat up swiftly and swung his legs round so they were hanging off the side edge of the bed and turned his head so he could flash George a playful smirk. George turned onto his side to face him and smiled, reaching a hand out to rub at Owen's lower back. As much as Owen liked to put on a brave face and stern exterior, George had known him far too long not to see through the hardened outer shell.

"Hey," George called when Owen dropped his head into one hand, the other stretched back to squeeze one of George's thighs. Owen looked back at George's call, to him it had always been a siren's song, "I love you." Sitting up just as Owen had, George swung round behind him and locked his legs around Owen's hips, hooking his chin over his shoulder, "You're going to be great."

"Thanks bub," Owen breathed and grabbed both of George's hands in his own and kissed the palms of both tenderly, "I love you too, you know?"

Smiling against him, George answered with a soft kiss to the hard strength of Owen's trapezius, "Let's get ready, yeah? You know Eddie's going to turn up here fuming if we're late. He probably already knows that we were together last night." They stood together, Owen dragging his personal kola up with him. Any extra moment of closeness, contact they could keep were precious. They knew that as the day wore on they would have to allow more and more distance between them - the idea was almost agonising to the young captain.

"Do you want me to go while you pack up? I know it's-" Owen spun and hauled George against him before he could even think to finish, the look of near terror in his elder's eyes at his words almost startling him more than having been captured so ferociously.

"No," Owen panned flatly, "No, I want you to stay, I..." George tilted his head slightly, eyes warm as he listened to Owen's unspoken message, the constant line of 'you know I need you, please don't make me say it,' the constant fear of being perceived as weak, of showing any sign of faltering. Even in front of George.

"Okay," George soothed, he traced his palms rhythmically over Owen's broad chest knowing that his touch was needed to reassure that he was there and he wasn't going anywhere fast, "It's okay, I can stay."

Owen nodded, head dropping into the crown of George's and nosing at the hair there inhaling him while he still had the time to. George moved away to open the blind and free the muted light and Owen almost grunted in discontent at losing his presence. The light was blinding when it was finally allowed to flood the room, the heat from the beating sun becoming so stifling that it caught Owen's breath in his throat for a moment. It wasn't like either of them to think of anything beyond what was clear and in front of them, but something in the day, the sun, the atmosphere had Owen wondering of signs in the universe and of a hope that had been lost to him, to them all, just two weeks ago.

Owen was aware of George dressing so painfully slowly, of him feeling awkward while he witnessed something as tender as Owen's pre-game ritual. It wasn't as though he hadn't seen it hundreds of times before, but this was such an important match and that was at the very forefront of both their minds. They both felt the supreme pressure that they had ignorantly allowed themselves to become unaccustomed to, Owen would carry his whole team in just hours to come and with that George would be the one to carry him through it.

"You ready?" Ritual finally over, Owen held out his hand for George to take, preparing to face the music if his partner in crime was ready to be there with him.

"As I'll ever be," George huffed as he weaved their fingers together. Yet as soon as they opened the door, even just into the artificially lit hallway of the hotel, the comforting grasp of the optimistic heat left them only to be replaced by a discontenting chill. It was with that that Owen could feel their morning bloom withering with the knowledge that he would soon be severed away from his fiercest source of strength.

They walked mostly in silence, never uncomfortable between, both their kit bags carried on Owen's power right shoulder leaving George free to walk at more pace and carry them both along. Despite his hatred for conceding control, Owen let himself be help onwards knowing only George could understand that he was scared and not judge him for it. He took advantage of this peace while they still had it, let his heart flutter while George was still there to support it and slow it, soon, he knew, he'd be on his own.

All their efforts to be prompt turned out futile in the end, and Eddie glared as they slipped into briefing although his eyes seemed to soften slightly when he noticed the knuckle white grip Owen still had on George's hand. Almost never would either fly half show their romantic relationship in formal team scenarios and yet here Owen was still taking comfort from George, open for everyone to see. The first time captain was clearly feeling the pressure in a visible way he was usually so good at concealing.

Quietly, George apologised for the both of them and released his hand from Owen's to take their kit bags from his shoulder and drop them down. For a moment, Owen's wall almost collapsed entirely when he felt George leave him as though the warm, slightly sweat slick palm being taken away was a pain equivalent to his whole left arm having been severed.

They'd near on missed briefing and Eddie asked Owen to say a few words, officially confirming himself as captain for the match. Stuttering and stumbling only slightly over his words, he kept a firm and longing glance on George the entire time; his eyes betraying him only to the one who could read his every emotion with a single look.

Although they had all day until the game, Eddie had wanted to get to the Stade early to prepare on foreign field after such a disappointing away performance previously. Loitering at the back of the group, the pair slowly sauntered to their usual position at the back of the bus and Owen made his usual move of pulling George against him the second they were settled. Finally they could slip back into their bubble, despite twenty one others still crowded around them. His lips found their place momentarily behind George's ear, thought to the both of them to be another flutter of hidden intimacy that they had become so accustomed to. Thought.

An interrupting cough from above them had the two startling apart, met with the slightly flustered face of their captain standing over them, "Sorry lads, just, Owen, Eddie and I think you should come up front with us. There's some things we still want to talk you through."

Already Owen looked exhausted and they weren't even near game time and George just wanted to give him a hug as he smiled to him and said, "I'll see you in a bit, yeah?" Owen sighed, hand coming up to rub dejectedly at his forehead, "Yeah, see you in a bit, Georgie."

It wasn't for hours that they actually did.

Training was tedious to say the least. Hour after hour of the most basic of drills making it clear to all of them that Eddie and the coaches faith in them had wavered severely. Normally it was Owen's greatest advantage that he was able to put these kinds of loses behind the moment they happened, but he couldn't do that now. His new leading position made it essential that that loss was always in his mind, to be learnt from, to overcome, to take his team beyond it and prove them all better for it. And they were made to feel the consequences of it, passing drills they hadn't done since secondary school, patronising defence critiques, pace enhancers that took away any chance to second guess themselves. It was no surprise that in and amongst all this Owen hardly even got a fleeting glance of George, let alone an opportunity to speak with him.

It wasn't until they were changing into their match kit much later in the day that they finally got a chance to say more than just yelled instruction to each other. George was in light hearted conversation with a few of the other backs -the separation between forward and back worse in a changing room than that of boys and girls in a children's playground- when Owen finally found his opportunity to pull George away.

Coming up behind the younger, hands securely finding the waist he was so used to holding and startling George out of his conversation, "Can I talk to you?" Owen mumbled against his ear, so close his breath sent a shiver down his spine.

Nodding, George turned and let Owen take a hold of his wrist. He could practically feel Te'O smirking behind him, confirmed by Owen playfully flipping him off before pulling George away into a quiet corner. Anyone near seemed to scurry quickly, knowing how important these moments were to secure the most reliable connection in the team.

"I want you to run out behind me," Owen had George backed against the wall but was gazing down at their feet between them as he spoke, hands rubbing up and down George's biceps, "And stand next to me for the anthems."

It wasn't a question. Nothing ever was when it came to something Owen wanted, but the was such a nervousness to him asking -one George hadn't seen for a long time. He could tell the pending match was putting him on edge, the adding pressure of captaincy finally causing cracks to appear in the usually unbreakable armour of Owen's outer exterior.

"You know I would've anyway, you don't have to ask, Owen," George let his head drop and allow their foreheads to press firmly together.

"I know," Owen breathed between them before unexpectedly surging forward and clasping George in the tightest of hug. The force of it lifted him off his feet momentarily before his socked toes managed to find purchase on top of the sturdy structure of Owen's boots. Owen's face practically buried itself into George's shoulder, muting his voice as he spoke, "I love you. I love you so much."

George stroked his hand reassuringly up and down Owen's back as he held onto him just as ferociously as he was being held, "I know, I know. I love you too. I'll be right behind you, okay?"

So that is just what he did. As the all streamed into the tunnel George made sure not to let Owen out of his direct sight, the back of the elder's head becoming his view while they waited and queued, the feeling anticipation flooding around them just as the sun had done to begin their day. They knew full well they had to play as though their lives depended on it in order to stand any chance of being a sight of competition in a week's time and in order to secure their position after Scotland had thrown so many things way up in the air. And as they stood and sang, George could feel Owen's grip so tight on his jacket he was sure the fabric would be damaged in some way. But that didn't matter, as he held on just as tight both felt how right it was to be where they should always be, but so rarely are.

Touching. Linked. Together.

They didn't play how they should have. Not by any means and especially not given how much they needed to prove themselves as the team that should be feared.

Owen's early penalties did great for putting them ahead. George had to dip his head to hide the way he beamed at his successes. None the less, the French were brutal in their attack in a way that seemed like an unstoppable force. They equalled their penalties and were punishing in their sheer power. Owen saw red when George was shoved brutally onto the ground as he tried his best to make a tackle he shouldn't have been the one left to make. When George was the only one left alone to tackle a twenty stone giant Owen knew he'd be screaming bloody murder at half time. He didn't care how much of an angry boyfriend he came across as, damn being captain for all he cared. Alas, even that didn't work as, after a painstaking half time, George was still left alone in the ruck to come to blows with Bastareaud once again. He was almost relieved when George was subbed off at sixty minutes. As much as he knew his boy wanted to play, Owen wasn't sure how much more of the French attack he could watch reverberate onto him.

But it seems that George tackling the giants may have been the only thing that had given them any sort of chance. Owen could feel the defeat only minutes after his grounding force had left the pitch. Feeling George's gaze as a constant, boring into him alone no matter where the ball was on the pitch was just about the only thing that kept a fighting force within Owen. He did his part, kicking the conversion neatly and getting their penalties nicely into touch, but despite them coming close to the try line, he knew it was not to be.

The second the whistle blew, Owen felt his body deflate. His shoulders sagged and his head bowed instantly and the crushing feeling of pure shame and disappointment hitting him like a tidal wave, a tsunami in comparison to how it had felt two weeks previous. This was his team, his first chance to lead and he had been the one to let everyone down. If he couldn't even secure a victory in France how would he ever prove he could do it against the likes of New Zealand.

He could see George saunter onto the pitch in his peripheral vision, saw as he shook hands with the French and placed comforting hands on his teammates' shoulders. In that moment he was reminded just why George was the one thing in his life that could always drag him back up from the bottom. Owen was the one they called phenomenal, world class, but there was one person responsible for making him the player, the man he was. And it wasn't himself.

"You did so well," George murmured as he brazed past Owen, eventually having got to him after interacting with just about every other person on the pitch, "Go comfort the lads, yeah? They need you now."

Anyone would think he wasn't one to do as he was told, but something about George, no matter what he said or how he said it, that seemed poetic to Owen's ears. Like he couldn't ever refuse him even if he had wanted to try. He did just as George had told him, after completing his hand shaking duties, he rounded everyone up for the huddle and praised each and every one in them in whatever way came to mind first. George was the solid presence at his side, keeping him talking when all he wanted to do was collapse to the ground in a heap of his own failings and wallow in self pity for as long as it took him to get back up again. No, he didn't do that. Not with George's arm around his back and his own returning, with just that comfort alone he could have stayed there for days.

They staggered off the pitch apart, but this time it felt okay. Owen knew George would be there waiting the second he needed him again. George was his penicillin, the one who saved him like his guardian angel appearing at his darkest moments. The world, sun and stars combined couldn't describe.

Of course, Owen was berated for his performance. It wasn't all bad, Eddie didn't seem as disappointed in him alone as he did with the team as a whole, but that didn't mean the entourage of coaches' critiques and comments didn't feel like an ocean of self abiding large enough to drown in. Not that any teams worth of criticism or disappointment in him could come even close to equalling that which he felt for himself.

Post match dinners were always boring to say the least. No matter the circumstance, the winning team were always too rowdy amongst themselves to take any note of the quiet losing team who would have given anything not to have been there. Owen was disgruntled enough that he had been seated somewhere away from George. All he wanted was a warm hand to hold under the table, but instead he was left with the cold draft of an open window reminding him of the chill he felt within at the disheartening defeat. Owen ate silently and barely even looked up from his food to take any notice of those around him. Last he had checked George had been down at the opposite end of the table in a small post Bath bubble with JJ and Anthony and almost entirely out of his sight. Yet it still scared him when he finally looked up again to see that George was nowhere in sight.

Feeling his heart jump into his throat for a moment, Owen sprung into a low standing making the chair scrape behind him and those close enough to startle look worriedly up at him. He noticed Dylan's questioning before anyone else's, barely hearing the words out of his captain's mouth before he was pointedly asking, "Where's George? I can't- where did George go?"

Dylan reached a hand up to his shoulder to pull him back down into his seat, well aware that his stand-in was currently causing a scene drawing in the unwanted attention of French players who were blissfully ignorant to the circumstance between the two fly halves.

"I noticed him slip out, mate," Dylan assured, "He's probably just tired, he'll only be back in his room, don't worry."

Owen squeezed the bridge of his nose between his fingers feeling a burn of frustrated and exhausted tears begin to tickle at the back of his eyes, "Can I go?" He practically whispered, "Can I go to him, please?"

Dylan looked a little unsure. He knew Eddie wouldn't be happy if he found out one of the captains had left the dinner early, but he also understood how crushing it felt to lose your first match as captain and couldn't help take pity on him. "Go on then. But if this comes back badly on me I won't hesitate to throw both you and George under the bus."

That helped to elicit a small smile from Owen and he squeezed his captain's shoulder before he stood up to go, "Thank you, Skips." He was quick and brazen as he walk away, pointedly ignoring any of his teammates who tried to grab his attention, all he wanted was to get to George as soon as he could; there was no way he was letting anyone else in this world see him cry.

JJ grabbed his wrist and he was hurrying past them, so close to the door it almost physically hurt him to have to turn back, so close to getting out of a room that suddenly felt so stifling. He fixed the other centre with a look making sure he knew Owen was not in the mood for chit-chat and that he had better make it quick. "He's in your room, mate. Said to tell you to go there if you were gonna look for him."

Owen fixed him with a nod and a curt "cheers, mate," which told JJ well enough that he had better let him go. The fly half hurried quickly from the room, barely stopping to breath in the now freezing cold night air before he was flying to find George.

When he made it to his hotel room he was freezing, fingers almost too numb to fumble the flimsy plastic key card from his pocket to shove into the lock haphazardly and fling the door open.

The climate difference hit him instantly and like a tonne of bricks. The room was so warm, but not stifling like it had been at dinner. It was the same cozy, homely humidity that they had left behind that morning as though when they shut it into their hotel room it had remained for them to return to. Although the sun had long disappeared, Owen's sun, his warmth to come home to was curled against the headboard of the bed radiating light into a room in a way far greater than the dim bedside lamps ever could.

"Hi," like a calico cat George was there, ready to meet him, to love him, with as little as a single word.

"Georgie," was all Owen could manage to choke, still stuck to his place in the entrance to the room barely even had shut the door behind him, before all the chagrin of the day began to flood over. He sank to his knees on the carpeted floor, hands coming to grip as fists in the fabric of his suit trousers, head hanging low as stray tears fell silently onto he cheeks and the floor alike. It was all he could take before ugly sobs were ripping from his throat. He had never let himself show this weakness, not in the countless times George had seen him cry, he was always reserving his true show of pain. And this, this felt worthy.

Without another word he felt George join him on his knees, felt small arms wrap around his neck and George's head nudge and nestle against his throat and chest.

"I can't, Georgie," Owen was practically panting at this point, the sheer strength of his tears seeming to rip more energy from him than any game ever had, "I was meant to prove myself and I couldn't. I fucked it all up so bad, bubba, what am I gonna do now?"

George simply shushed him. He knew Owen didn't need his words in that moment, he just needed to cry. Sometimes just the presence of the one you love is worth a thousand more words than any attempt at comfort.

"Bub..." Owen croaked, fists finally releasing as he began to calm and let his arms come up to wrap around his boy and hold him as close as he could. There was no air between them and their skin felt blistering in the heat of the room, but it was nothing more than another simple reminder that they were still here, together, even if it felt like they had nothing else anymore.

"I'm here,"

Eventually George managed to get him to bed. They spent what felt like hours just kneeling, huddled and near sweating from the heat and George's knees were screaming to be released from the crushing pressure of two bodies when finally he managed to coax Owen into standing. The elder felt pathetic, his deepest vulnerabilities on full display and George showed no judgement, no pity, just kept him grounded with the constant reminder that he wasn't going anywhere. Owen wished he could be as reliable.

Insisting on petulance, Owen strewed his suit around the entire hotel room, tugging each offending item of clothing off his body before he flung it somewhere around the unwitting floor before finally falling into bed in the same cotton tracksuit trousers he had the night before.

But he couldn't seem to bring himself to brood. He lay flat on his back gazing in wonder as he watched George silent strip himself. Unlike Owen's cold and vicious actions, George took his time to hang or fold each component of his sweat warm suit and arrange them neatly in their rightful places. Owen watched as each crease on his forehead slowly appeared in his concentration, Owen could remember where each one should be like a map he had studied. The vein in his forehead produced slightly, reacting to the heat in the room, reminding Owen of the pulse that resided there assuring him of the life that wasn't leaving him. His hair was still slightly damp from his shower and had been pushed back haphazardly just to get it off his forehead; Owen thought he looked as though he could have only just woken up.

By the time George finally joined him, Owen could have recited every detail with his eyes closed. He wanted to take an image to hide away in his mind forever. Although he didn't need to turn to face George to see every detail, he did anyway. Never did he want to look away again.

"I'm still proud of you, you know?" George whispered, hand carding through the fair hair adorned atop Owen's head, "I'm always going to be proud of you."

None of it had seemed connected until now. The day wore on and every aggravating moment seemed to pile higher, separate, and building as a mountain of inescapable pressure before his back finally broke in a last ditch attempt to connect every dot and understand how things felt so far from his control.

Until now it had been indescribable and callously cruel. But lying there letting George love him and loving him too Owen knew every moment was beneficial.

Serendipity.                        

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently this is what happens when I try to write using motifs. Thank you for sticking around this long to wallow in the pain with me -let's just appreciate Owen as captain together. Thank you to everyone who inspired me to write more about these two.


End file.
